Rearticulating Anthropology JAMES CLIFFORD In The Order of Things, Michel Foucault argues that the modern disci- plines, including anthropology, took shape during the nineteenth century in a discursive context where the figure of “man” had emerged as a com- plex subject and object of knowledge, simultaneously transcendent and ‘empirical. I take this moment as a rough starting point for a discussion of how sociocultural anthropology makes and remakes itself in changing intellectual and institutional contexts. I write at a time of serious dis- agreement about whether we are at the end of the episteme Foucault identified—a set of assumptions under which “cultural” and “social” diver- sity across time and space can be construed as a describable and theoriz- able “human” inheritance. My approach, agnostic and metahistorical, leaves this and similar important disagreements unresolved while argu- ing that such disputes are constitutive of anthropology’s shifting borders and intellectual alliances. I hope to describe a process of “disciplining” that is less about creating consensus than about managing dissent, less about sustaining a core tradition than about negotiating borders and constructing coalitions. Invoking Foucault also recalls the embodied and institutional aspects of disciplinary formation. “Disciplining,” as I understand it, is not only a matter of defining scholarly territories, research topies, and analytic methods—the “content” of a discipline. The term evokes older traditions of normative training and ascetic practice that take modern form in pas- toral and governmental institutions, including the university. Disciplining isa process unfolding within these changing contexts. Anthropology is an academic practice unusually exposed to the post-1960s changes in per- spective and political location associated with the linked phenomena of “decolonization” and “globalization.” Modern anthropology, a compara- tive science of human diversity, was for its first century a “Western” sci-= ence. This has begun, irreversibly, to change, along with the gendered, raced, and culturally conditioned bodies ofits practitioners. Elsewhere I have written about one aspect of this work-in-process, the normative function and professional habitus of “fieldwork,” seen as a disputed, defended, and changing cluster of embodied practices (Clifford 1997b: 52-91). That discussion ends, like the current essay, with the pros- pect, but not yet the achievement, of “postcolonial” decentering. My con. cern is with institutional contexts of disciplining, especially zones of relationality, borderlands in which academic imagined communities rou tinely, creatively, and sometimes agonistically make and remake them selves. This approach extends what was postulated in the essay on field- work: a discipline most actively defines itself at its edges, in relation to what it says it is not. It does this by selectively appropriating and exclud- ing elements that impinge, influences that must be managed, translated, incorporated. The process of incorporation also involves exclusion. A line is drawn in the interdisciplinary sand to mark a frontier. Something is taken in and something held at a distance, made “other.” Over time, the line’s position—contingent, policed, and transgressed—shifts tactically. This becomes apparent when one tracks anthropology’s changing rela- tions with history, with sociology, with literary studies, and with bi- ology and evolutionary theories, to mention only some of the more well- traveled borderlands. Inan acute recent discussion, Virginia Dominguez explores the fraught and productive relationship of sociocultural anthropology with a new disciplinary alter ego, “cultural studies.” Dominguez cites ten fundamen- tal attitudes shared by anthropological and cultural studies work. She then demonstrates these overlaps in practice through an analysis of edi- torial board composition and articles published in two influential jour- nals, Cultural Anthropology and American Ethnologist (both of which have abandoned “four-fields” coverage in favor of intensified links to social history, literary studies, Marxist analysis, race and gender studies, etc.). She then shows various tactics of disciplining that agonistically reestab- lish a sharp identity and sustain “a common presumption that Cultural Studies is ‘other’ to Anthropology” (1996, 46). At the current moment one can, in fact, observe a range of border attitudes, ranging from embattled “disciplinary patriotism” (Appadurai 1996, 29) to tactical, selective en- gagement to something close to a merging of horizons. Sociocultural anthropology’s self-image has long featured synthetic REARTICULATING ANTHROPOLOGY 2526 opportunism and openness to other disciplines. But too much engage- ment undermines a sense of integrity. Border crossing without policing erases the boundary. Thus even the most generous anthropological com- mentators on cultural studies are at pains to sustain at least a few key distinctions. For example, Richard Handler's review essay on the swiftly canonized and attacked collection Cultural Studies (edited by Grossberg, Nelson, and Treichler), cited by Dominguez. (1996, 57), does not fail to argue for anthropology's more broad-ranging and analytically complex concept of “culture,” as well as for its “trump card,” ethnography. The significance of these two elements as distinguishing features of the disci pline will appear below. ‘As Dominguez observes, the border work follows patterns analyzed by Fredrik Barth in his seminal volume, Ethnic Groups and Boundaries (1969). Disciplines, like ethnic groups, are subcultures of a wider polity— in this case, the university. They have no natural or autochthonous origin and must be articulated in situations of contact, overlap, and similarity. Populations, ideas, and practices routinely cross their borders and com- bine syncretically. For Barth, the sense of a group’s distinction, its tradition or common culture, is always a secondary creation, not a primary cause or origin. Groups select certain traits with which they mark an identity, while trafficking among the many customs and practices they share with neigh- bors. In the community of sociocultural anthropologists, a fetishized prac- tice of fieldwork has been used to sustain a professional distinction from qualitative sociology or cultural studies, marking off ideas and methods that might otherwise be indistinguishable. In other contexts, anthropol- ogy's purportedly unique local “contextualism,” its “comparativism,” or its “holism” have performed similar distinguishing work. Barth observes that groups often show quite dramatic internal variety in their “ecological” adaptations while nonetheless sustaining a sense of common group identification through a selective marking of culture traits. Analogous niches in the interdisciplinary landscape are institu- tionalized by the sections of the American Anthropological Association, with their very different objects, languages, and research practices. What partial overlaps and tokens of recognition make them all “anthropolo- gists,” members of a group, as Barth puts it, who believe they are “playing the same game"? Rena Lederman (this volume) suggests that the Ameri- can four fields, and until recently the requirement that graduate students take courses in at least three, contributed to a sense of solidarity. Indeed, JAMES CLIFFORDthe experience of a shared training may have been more important than any substantive ability to combine methodologies or fuse intellectual waditions Inits normal functioning, a discipline does not actually need consensus on core assumptions. Rather like a hegemonic alliance, in Gramscian perspective, it requires consent, some significant overlapping interests and a spirit of live-and-let-live across the differences. At times of crisis, such as the recent Tierney/Chagnon fracas (outlined below by Rena Lederman), a strong antagonism (of a “culture wars"/“science wars” vari- ety) may divide the field. Divisions of this sort can lead to permanent splits in departments but seldom in the larger coalitional space of the discipline. Anthropology has, at least so far, managed to construct and reconstruct a hegemony from its contradictory elements. This is not to say that the elements remain the same. There is a constant coming and going, a realignment of interests and affiliations across changing interdisciplin- ary, institutional, and geopolitical terrains. In this perspective, the focus shifts away from identities to processes of identification. All disciplines, scientific and humanist, are diverse, actively self-defining communities. Thomas Kuhn (1996 [1962]) famously brought sociological consensus making, historicity, and the reinvention of traditions into the very heart of scientific practice (Phillips forthcoming). And recently Peter Galison (1997) has shown the discipline “physics” to be a trading zone of discrete subcultures (cited by Hodder in this volume). Indeed, Galison’s theoret- ical and historical perspective may offer some useful insights to those who worry about anthropology’s lack of a unified aim and method. Even the so-called “hard sciences” turn out to be rather loosely articulated. Build ing on these perspectives and on much other work in the historical soci- ology and ethnography of science, we can free ourselves from any as- sumption that “anthropology,” always a confederation of traditions and practices, must strive for a unified identity modeled on a mistaken, ahis- torical model of science. ‘Thinking about historical processes of identity formation, we focus on shifting domains of interdisciplinarity borderlands through which sharp borders are drawn and redrawn. Knowledge does not, of course, naturally sort itself out in professional segments, and institutionalize domains of academic practice are necessarily dynamic and relational. Thus I will be considering not only anthropology, but also some of its neighbors, trying to sketch a processual approach to disciplinary formation and change. My REARTICULATING ANTHROPOLOGY 2728 account is a partial one, focused largely on sociocultural anthropology in the United States and skewed toward the borderlands 1 know best, in the humanities and hermeneutic/historical social sciences. But I see no reason why the general approach should not apply to different national configurations of anthropology/ethnology or to other disciplinary bound- aries—for example, those actively being renegotiated with biology, ecol- ogy, and the evolutionary and cognitive sciences. Histories of institutionalization lean toward a functionalist analytic, constraining the innovative, productive dimensions of power Foucault always stressed. Thus I insist on processes of disciplining—the gerund evoking an ongoing, unfinished aspect. And | will be supplementing (not replacing) the Foucauldian account of governmentality with a more his- torically contingent and pragmatically political perspective signaled by the term articulation. My overview of anthropology and some of its neighbors is meant to be provocative, an incitation to step outside current polemics and reformist projects, attempts to recapture or redefine anthropology. My aim is to get a fresh perspective on interdisciplinarity, seen not as located between the disciplines—a misleading spatialization—but as inherent in the processes of connecting, disconnecting, and reconnecting organized domains of knowledge. Disciplining is always also interdisciplining. “Articulation” suggests immediately the expressive, selective, and con- structive process of speech. But most saliently here, it also refers to joints, connections, components of complex discursive/social bodies that can, with changing circumstances, be disarticulated. Stuart Hall explains: Articulation is a linkage which is not necessary, determined, abso- lute and essential for all time. You have to ask, under what cir- cumstances can a connection be forged or made? So the so-called “unity” of a discourse is really the articulation of different, distinct elements which can be re-articulated in different ways because they have no necessary “belongingness.” The “unity” which matters is a linkage between that articulated discourse and the social forces with which it can, under certain historical conditions, but need not necessarily, be connected (1996; 141). Articulation theory, which Hall derives from Gramsci and Laclau, makes politically contingent the supposed necessity, determinism, or natural- JAMES CLIFFORDness of social formations like “classes,” “races,” and “ethnicities.” While E the approach does not apply equally well to all sociocultural phenomena : (some of which have deep local, historically sedimented roots), it cer- tainly applies to those often fractious, recently formed communities, the academic disciplines. During the early and mid-twentieth century, North American anthro- Fb pology’s distinctive “four fields” formed a persistent, if often unstable, historical bloc. The ensemble of overlaps and alliances sustaining this cul- tural, biological, archaeological, and linguistic academic tradition were, from the outset, recognized to be contingent and temporary by Franz 4 Boas. The tradition’s founder and exemplary practitioner had no illusions about any enduring unity of method or object, and indeed, he anticipated 5 fissures and realignments in the immediate future (Boas 1904; discussed £ by Yanagisako this volume). He would have been astonished by the al- *, liance’s longevity (persisting rather like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland—a body of shifting, differently copresent parts). If the four fields matrix has survived for a century after Boas’s prediction, it is, George Stocking suggests (1988), because it has served at key times, such as the 1950s social science expansion, to characterize a healthy, capa- cious, scientific discipline for powerful university or governmental au- diences. A kind of noble lie, perhaps. In fact, after Boas, no one has actually worked creatively in more than two of the four fields. And even Boas's exemplary contribution to all four fields is something of a myth, sliding rapidly over archaeology. Pethaps the most dramatic disarticulation of the four fields ensemble has taken place with respect to “linguistic anthropology.” Most depart- ments today do not feel the need for a distinct linguistic track or faculty cluster. The study of linguistic process is very much part of anthropologi- cal work, but it tends to be seen as one of sociocultural anthropology’s many provinces. Few anthropologists now study “languages” in the sus- tained descriptive/analytic way that was common to the generation of Sapir or Kroeber. As erstein argues (this volume), “Linguistic anthro- pology is sociocultural anthropology with a twist, the theoretical as well as instrumental (via ‘discourse’ or ‘the discursive’) worrying of our same basic data, semiosis in various orders of contextualization.” Semiotic pro- historicized (as in Silverstein’s stress on creolization), names a rich domain of research that is arguably much closer to the concerns of cul: ces REARTICULATING ANTHROPOLOGY 2930 tural history than to those of much current linguistics. Indeed, the links with academic linguistics that were a major element in the relative auton- omy of the linguistic subfield—epitomized in the figure of Sapir—have been loosened and in many areas severed. This is partly a result of the Chomskian revolution, which firmly realigned the linguistics mainstream with natural science. And it partly reflects the rise of semiology and a per- vasive discursive turn in recent cultural analysis that has extended the domain of “the linguistic” beyond the Saussurian category of “language” (langue). This is to oversimplify a complex, uneven situation. But as William Foley has written in an explicit attempt at reconstruction, “Over the past few decades, linguistics and anthropology have increasingly di- verged from each other, linguistics with a largely positivistic, structuralist orientation toward its subject matter and anthropology with a more inter pretivist, discursive one, so that it is often difficult for specialists in the two fields to talk to each other. This has led to marginalization of anthro- pological linguistics in both disciplines” (1997, xiv). The legacies of “lin- guistic anthropology” (and “anthropological linguistics") are being prag- matically rearticulated in new interdisciplinary, institutional niches (e. Brenneis and Macaulay 1996; Foley 1997; Duranti 1997). What is not be- ing rearticulated is a distinct and necessary fourth field of “anthropology.” Today, many more than four “fields,” inside and outside institutional anthropology, cobble together active research domains. And this hyphen- ating diversity has characterized the range of “anthropological” activities at any historical moment. The normative vision of four fields resurfaces when members of the discipline feel called on to account for their collec- tive identity, whether in a defensive or an entrepreneurial mode. Seen over time, collective identifications of this sort are inconsistent, aggres- sively asserted at times, negotiated and forgotten at others. The four- fields ideal has waxed and waned. In the years of shrinking resources following the 1950s and 1960s period of dramatic growth in the U.S. academy, a sense of lost direction and disciplinary crisis became more common, The four fields, which in the 1950s signaled an expansive and inclusive “science of Man,” by the 1980s and 1990s came to represent a “back to basics” circling of the disciplinary wagons. Increased competition for resources is part of the story, as is the recent proliferation of inter- disciplinary work in the humanities and interpretive social sciences (post- structuralism, neo-Marxist critical theory, semiotics, feminism) and in the JAMES CLIFFORDnatural sciences (hyphenated rearticulations of biology, the emergence of cognitive science, evolutionary psychology, and so on). During the past two decades, a sense of disciplinary disarray has been in the air. Things fall apart. The center cannot hold. Mere cultural studies is loosed upon the world. Anthropology is not alone in feeling at sea. A few years ago, the Stanford Humanities Center organized a conference: “Have the Disciplines Collapsed?” The rhetoric of crisis, evoking loss of coher- ence, rigor, depth, and authority, tends toward the apocalyptic. But two recent historical studies of humanities disciplines, Gerald Graff's Profess- ing Literature (1987) and Peter Novick’s history of American historians, That Noble Dream (1988), dispel any idyllic memory of order and agree- ment before the current dissensus. Both works trenchantly argue, and illustrate in concrete detail, that disciplinary formation has always been a contingent, conflictual process. Graff describes literary studies as a long series of arguments about how “literature” should be understood and valued vis-a-vis historical context and theory. And he shows how funda- mental, Arnoldian “humanist” values (themselves at one time fiercely resisted innovations) came to embody a kind of disciplinary ethos or common sense. Only relatively late, in the strongly contested postwar emergence of “New Criticism,” did a method of close textual exegesis (similar in its normative function to fieldwork for anthropology and arcl val research for history) come to epitomize a disciplinary habitus. This innovation, now “traditional,” is pitted against contemporary trends in literary or cultural theory, new historicism, postcolonial analysis, etc. And the cycle continues. Graff argues that disagreements about fundamental aims and methodologies are integral to the practice of organized literary study, conflicts that are more or less effectively managed through what he calls the “field-coverage principle” (1987, 6-8). This principle was central to “the modernization and professionaliza- tion of education of the 1870s and 1880s, when schools and colleges orga- nized themselves into departments corresponding to what were deemed to be the major subjects and research fields” (Graff 1987, 6). Disciplines ‘were organized as a series of discrete territories worked on by specialists. If the basic fields were “covered,” then so was the discipline. Graff argues that this mechanism allowed members of a discipline, in their everyday practice, to avoid, or bracket, fundamental arguments about goals and REARTICULATING ANTHROPOLOGY 3t32 methods while still assuming that their diverse strategies would “add up.” Since specialists enjoyed relative autonomy within their fields, research and pedagogy could be self-regulating. Moreover, organization by field coverage allowed academic disciplines to be flexible, and to absorb new approaches in an additive manner, by creating new fields. Initiatives that might address the fundamental, epistemological values of the discipline were thus included without causing changes across the whole array of fields. (For example, feminist anthropology could be added on, rather than anthropology becoming, significantly, feminist. See Marilyn Strat- hern’s 1987 acute discussion of these issues.) American anthropology’s four traditional components, while they ap- propriate the normalizing disciplinary rhetoric of “fields,” only partially correspond to Graff's description. They have, much of the time, allowed the cohabitation, without fundamental debate, of quite different research programs and practices (though tensions between natural scientific and historicist epistemologies have regularly surfaced and are currently hard to ignore, especially as competition for shrinking resources grows). More- over, the four fields have difficulty functioning in a flexible, expansive managerial manner: the problem is the number four, which restricts addi- tions yet does not reflect any widely shared understanding of structural/ functional unity. In contrast, the field-coverage principle joins a vision of completeness to an open-ended series of specializations. In practice, anthropology has worked through many proliferating and recombining interdisciplinary research alliances, and it has always been difficult to contain these articulations as subfields of cultural, archaeo- logical, biological, and linguistic anthropology. At the departmental level, “fields” and “subfields,” always quite selectively deployed, continue to function, producing local effects of wholeness and “coverage.” But at a disciplinary level, these effects rely less on a gathering of fields, of what- ever number, and more on a broader “disciplinary ensemble” (which Iwill sketch below), the basis for a traditional, transforming anthropological identity, both in America and elsewhere. Peter Novick's (1988) critical history of the American historical profes- sion offers many illuminating parallels with twentieth-century anthropol- ogy. Limiting myself to the postwar period, I underline his multidimen- sional account of what emerged after 1970 as a pervasive sense of crisis in the discipline. The 1950s and 1960s were boom years for American univer- sities, and disciplines such as history and anthropology grew rapidly. The JAMES CLIFFORDyearly conventions of the Aaa and American Historical Association (AHA) (not to mention the omnibus Modern Languages Association [MLAJ) turned into events without a core, increasingly massive agglomerations of subfields (Novick 1988, 580). Scale mattered: people began to lament a lost prewar sense of professional community when members from all parts of the discipline spoke to one another. After 1970 academic growth slowed dramatically, especially in nonscientific sectors, and historians were faced with a crisis of overproduction. Yet as career opportunities shrank, the discipline’s range of subject matter and methodology con- tinued to expand—from cliometrics to oral history, from the study of local parish registers to the world system, from feminism to urbanism, from material culture to media flows. A sense of fragmentation and loss of direction was pervasive. In the 19708 and 1980s it was not only historians who felt their discipline no longer held together. Novick offers many quotations from distinguished historians that could apply equally well to anthropology or literary stud- ies. For example, John Higham in 1985, discussing relations between Americanists and Europeanists in the U.S. profession, saw “a house in which inhabitants are leaning out of many open windows gaily chatter- ing with the neighbors while the doors between the rooms stay closed” (quoted in Novick 1988, 578). A sense of disciplinary fragmentation (and, one might ada, positive rearticulation) was compounded by rather funda- mental disagreements about aims, methods, and epistemologies. History was going through its own “crisis of representation.” Lawrence Veysey in 1979 was reduced to defining his field in minimalist terms: “All that unites historians is a concern for the evolution over time of whatever it is they study” (quoted in Novick 1988, 592). Clearly this is not enough to provide an adequate mark of distinction (in Barth's terms) for the profession, any more than saying anthropologists are defined by studying “culture” or literary scholars’ “texts.” Novick takes his distance from the rhetoric of crisis in the 1970s and 1980s: “The bad news was that the American historical profession was fragmented beyond any hope of unification. The good news was that the fragments were doing very well indeed. New fields were explored in inno- vative ways: historical works of considerable originality and even bril- liance appeared every year” (1988, 592). Something like this can no doubt be said about anthropology’s unwrapped sacred bundle. But the problem of institutional identity remains. Disciplines are political/ intellectual con- REARTICULATING ANTHROPOLOGY 33structs. Exploring an analogy with nations, Novick (590) shows that the ‘map of disciplines created in the late nineteenth century was not drawn up in any systematic way. The intellectual terrain was carved up ago- nistically and pragmatically by groups of scholars splitting off from older organizations and establishing discrete objects and methods. Over these claimed domains they asserted something like “sovereignty.” But like na- tional sovereignty, the borders established were in fact permeable, chang- ing, in need of active management and selective policing. Novick’s history amply supports an articulation approach to disciplinary process, allowing us to step back from perceptions of embattled traditions in crisis. Wary of all-or-nothing diagnoses, the approach does not confuse change with dis- solution, Articulation assumes there is nothing necessary or determined about the academic professions—their defining fields, objects, methods, or borders. The disciplines were not always what they are now. They could be, will be, different. Another example from the borders of anthropology poses instructive questions. Why is “geography” not an essential, core discipline in most U.S. universities? (Europe is another story.) There are, of course, geogra- phy departments, but these are quite unevenly distributed. Harvard, for example, got rid of geography in the early years of the century. Appar- ently the discipline is not like history or philosophy or physies, which no self-respecting university today can do without. One could imagine a university without a history department, where historical perspectives and methodology would be dispersed throughout the other disciplines. Indeed, a process like this seems to be under way in recent years (the ‘emergence of “historical ethnography” in anthropology, of “new histor icism” in literature). In some universities there are attempts to organize “historical studies” as an interdisciplinary cluster. One might even argue that something as important as “history” should never be the property of a limited group of professionals. (The same can be said about emergent formations—for example, “cultural studies” distinet from anthropology, “feminist scholarship” distinct from departments of “women's studies” or what is sometimes cobbled together these days under the title “visual culture.”) But any imagined dispersal of history throughout the disci- plines, even including the natural sciences, is utopic. While historical approaches can be found everywhere in the academic landscape, history proper is still considered to be a discrete territory, an essential discipline. JAMES CLIFFORDEF Why, compared to geography, is history, the study of past events, a more “essential” disciplinary formation? Why—to put it crudely—would a department of time be essential but not a department of space? A serious answer to this question would be complex and would need to confront in some detail the late-nineteenth-century contexts in which the modern disciplines were professionalized, a moment rather heavily burdened, as Nietzsche famously complained, by history (H. White 1978). It would also analyze the ideology of the “West” as a modernizing culture area, subject, and object of a normative consciousness distinguishing it from exotic and backward “peoples without history” (Wolf 1982). And it would consider the connection of institutionalized historical scholarship with national projects. (Recent fights in Washington have been concerned with “history standards,” where stories of national legitimation are at stake. It is hard to think of any issues in anthropology that could provoke similar argu- ments.) But whatever the reasons, history, not geography, remains an “intrinsic” discipline This may be changing. We are no longer positioned in the disciplines’ formative late-nineteenth-century moment—when Western scholars could confidently sort out the spatio-temporal experiences of the rest of the world’s societies along a continuum of separate cultures and a line of progress. Today, the changes designated by terms like modernization or globalization are no longer firmly oriented by a planetary map in which the West occupies the center and the others scramble to catch up from their various peripheries. Modernity has discrepant centers now, and the peripheries do not stay put. (Culturally and economically does California belong on the west coast of Euro-America, or on the eastern edge of the Asia-Pacific region?) In this new situation, a politicized, historicized geog- raphy is reemerging, articulated with a range of fields including urban studies, environmentalism, political economy, cultural anthropology, and feminism. It joins other composite disciplinary formations that analyze differently “located” forms of knowledge, culture, and indeed historical consciousness itself. The subaltern studies historian and critic Dipesh Chakrabarty (1992) calls this necessary, but by no means straightforward, process “provincializing Europe.” Will the “givenness” of history as a disci- pline survive this open-ended transition? It will, in any event, need to renegotiate disciplinary borders with a revived and expansive geography (Gregory 1994). One can ask similar questions about “literature” (until recently “En- REARTICULATING ANTHROPOLOGY 3536 glish”). No doubt its traditional articulation with what Hall called “social forces’—such as Western civilizing projects, bourgeois marks of cultiva- tion, or hegemonic national traditions—is a key source of its assumed necessity as a core discipline in the university. But parallel to history, its geopolitical location, the “Westernness” of its humanism, is increasingly at issue. So is its class identification with high culture.” There is no retreating from the dramatically expanded canon of the 1980s, its engage- ment with world literatures, with popular cultures, with visual and eth- nographic modes. ‘The coherence of literature, as topic and method, has loosened in a media age. It becomes necessary to ask why we still pre- scribe departments of literature and not of rhetoric or communication. An answer might begin with the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and the displacement of rhetoric from its central place in the Western university curriculum. And we would have to reckon with a return of rhetoric and of the oral (including Walter J. Ong's “secondary orality”) in academic configurations such as “popular culture,” “oral literature,” “communica- tions,” or “information.” Indeed, the latter, as is now widely recognized, threatens to swamp the discrete identity of a textual corpus called “litera- ture,” turning it into a somewhat quaint, outdated site on the intercultural netscape. For example, Alan Liu’s work analyzes and seeks to facilitate a transition in literature departments from producing “well-read” to “well- informed” citizens (see Liu 1998; 2004). Objects of study like “literature,” which Foucault in The Order of Things shows emerging in the nineteenth century, may well be in the process of disappearance (or metamorphosis) at the beginning of the twenty-first. ‘We return to anthropology’s own shifts and articulations. Detours through the related fields of geography, history, and literature have suggested a wider context for the current sense of a crisis in disciplinary identity, including all the defensive polemics that come with dis- and rearticula- tions of one’s proper domain of knowledge. We feel, of course, that our own crisis is somehow more profound than anyone else’s. American an- thropology, while confronting its own special challenges (an extreme, public exposure to the contestations of decolonization, a rather sharp “two cultures” split), is very much part of the institutional, political, and intellectual transformations of the post-1970 U.S. academy. Anthropology has long seen itself as bringing together disparate strands of knowledge. This is often celebrated as the field’s special “holism,” its JAMES CLIFFORDto link science and the humanities, biology and culture, social structure and history. Anthropology’s articulation of varied approaches has always been loose, however, creating a disjointed body sometimes stretched to the breaking point. How has the discipline kept from falling apart? What elements, in the twentieth century, have remained more or less firmly glued together, components of a persistent, distinctively “an- thropological” tradition? ‘The US. four fields no longer supply, if they ever did, a rigorous intel- Jectual map. And at the level of socialization, of graduate training, their ideal of coverage is more often than not honored in the breach. Seen comparatively, they are at best a local articulation. Elsewhere, anthropol- ogy has taken quite different shapes. In Europe, archaeology is quite reasonably associated with history, and there is no prescriptive connec- tion between sociocultural and biological anthropology. (In the French tradition ethnologie has been clearly distinct from anthropologie, and Lévi- Strauss's influential appropriation of the latter term was more philosophi- cal than biological.) This is not to say, of course, that there are no substan- tial commonalities or overlaps among the various “anthropological” tradi- tions. It is, however, to argue that these do not add up to a rational program or a clearly definable intellectual project. The “wholeness” of the twentieth-century discipline has, rather, depended on a loosely articu- lated discursive and institutional formation, a common sense that has recently become visible as it has come under pressure from all sides. A rough overview of this common sense (always susceptible to local versions and exceptions) would replace the American “four fields” with four theoretico-practical disciplinary components. During the first three quarters of the twentieth century the professional community of anthro- pologists managed to agree, most of the time, on (1) an empirical object, (2) a distinctive method, (3) an interpretive paradigm, and (4) a telos or transcendent object. The object was “primitive” societies; the method was “fieldwork”; the paradigm was “culture”; the telos was “Man.” (2) The discipline’s common empirical object was “primitive,” archaic, non-Western, non-“modern” societies. The emphasis is clear in Boas's often-cited 1904 definition, which linked “the biological history of all mankind” to “linguistics applied to people without written languages; the ethnology of people without historic records; and prehistoric archaeol- ogy” (Boas 1904, 35; emphasis added). A “division of knowledges,” as Michéle Duchet (1984) calls it in her study of the eighteenth-century REARTICULATING ANTHROPOLOGY 3738 origin of this specialization, separated anthropology /ethnology from his- tory/sociology. Human societies, objects of study, were divided into us and them, This specialization deepened in the nineteenth century, as essentialist concepts of race and culture took hold. Thus, in its formation as a discrete perspective, anthropology was enmeshed in colonialist ideo- logical structures (however anticolonialist its content may at times have been). The marking off of its special object reinforced common distine- tions between societies with and without history or writing, simple versus complex, cold versus hot, traditional versus modern. Anthropology filled in the details of an expansionist Europe's “savage slot” (Trouillot 1991) And it peopled the world with “other cultures,” sometimes seen as earlier civilizational stages, sometimes as synchronically dispersed samples, of humanity. (2) Primitive or exotic peoples could become empirical, closely studied scientific objects because scholars could travel to study them in distinctly anthropological ways. The twentieth-century discipline’s characteristic method, participant-observation fieldwork, though it had older roots, was given normativity by the Malinowskian generation. What emerged was an unstable but productive fusion of objective and subjective meth- ods (sometimes evoked as both a laboratory and a rite of passage). This “deep” form of experiential/analytic, hermeneutic/ scientific research be- came a defining feature of anthropology—even though it was, in fact, generally limited to the sociocultural branch and even there practiced rather unevenly. The history of what counts as adequate fieldwork shows great variation in length and nature of visiting/dwelling; relative mastery of language(s); rise and decline of scientific methods like kinship descrip- tion and political conditions of research, etc. But through all its transfor- mations, anthropological fieldwork sustained, against neighboring disci- plines such as sociology or economics, the norm of a peculiarly intensive and interactive research methodology. Moreover, the discipline’s general identification as a “field science” may have been critical in determining the articulation of archaeology to anthropology (particularly in expan- sive, settler-colonial national contexts) (Trigger 1984). (3) Anthropology’s interpretive paradigm was “culture,” or, in more Durkheimian traditions, “the social.” Well-worn arguments between Brit ish and American anthropologists over the relative merits of “culture” and “social structure” take place within the general paradigm. Lam referring to the closure produced by describing a culture, a cultural way of life, a JAMES CLIFFORDF society, ora social structure, (Thornton 1988 offers a trenchant critique of uch taxonomic refications.) Culture—always shadowed by its agonistic/ synergistic double, “race"—has been an enormously productive and elas- «concept. For much of the twentieth century, the discipline of anthropol- if ogy claimed a kind of eminent domain over one of its major meanings E (elativistic ways of life/arrangements of “learned” human behavior), Culture and its surrogates functioned as a “paradigmatic tradition,” to adopt Stocking’s (1992b) version of Kuhn. It gave everyone in the disci- pline an understanding of what the common problem was, what the form was whose blanks needed filling in. Recurring disputes over the proper un- derstanding of nature versus nurture, evolutionary versus social-historical £ components of human behavior, were built into the paradigm. For “cul- ture” denoted both structured, separate ways of life and what humans had that animals did not (“Man the culture-bearing animal” was a common- place). “Culture” finessed the deep epistemological division between (bio- logical) evolutionary and historicist explanations for patterns of behavior. Structural notions of language—Saussure’s langue/langage, the former designating specific languages, the latter a general human capacity—did the same double work. (Silverstein, this volume, explores the breakdown of this paradigm, which he associates with antiprocessual “taxonomic” and “museological” impulses.) (4 Finally, the discipline’s telos, “Man,” might best be called a tran- scendent object, since it is not like primitive, exotic societies, something assumed to be “out there” that one can visit and study, “Man” functioned more as ultimate horizon for an anthropology that, for a century or so, defined itself as the “science of man” (Marcel Mauss's homme total). Ev- erything anthropology did could be understood to contribute to know!- edge of this figure. I use the term figure in its rhetorical sense of symbolic condensation. The figure of Man, in the nineteenth century, was pro- foundly temporal. Organicist assumptions, common to notions of cultural and biological “life,” combined with historical/evolutionary models of development to undergird a pervasive modern common sense, a set of assumptions that, as Sylvia Yanagisako (this volume) makes clear, are still with us, though under new pressure. This is the epistemic territory of Foucault's “Man,” the empirical/transcendental double analyzed in The Order of Things. A potent figure was underwritten, in disciplinary anthro- pology, by the elastic “culture” paradigm, by the simultaneously experien- tial and scientific practice of fieldwork, and by a global setup in which REARTICULATING ANTHROPOLOGY 3940 any society (however “savage” or “simple") could stand as an empirical instance of a developing humanity, a collectible, classifiable piece of a puzzle. Ethnography, archaeology, history, physical anthropology, and linguistics were all part of this overall project. The teleological figure of “Man,” whether conceived in evolutionist or taxonomic terms (in prac- tice, usually some combination of the two), was projected from a site of theorization firmly situated in a transcendent “modern” West. While Foucault does not feature this specifically colonial foreshortening, it be- comes inescapable when considering late-twentieth-century postcolonial challenges to anthropology’s telos. This disciplinary ensemble—combining a distinctive object, method, par- adigm, and telos—no longer looks as natural as it once did. Every element is actively contested, Yet it would be utopian and ahistorical to claim that itis now finished, that some whole new formation is emerging. Rather an accelerated series of shifts and realignments seems to be under way be- tween the discipline’s subfields and across its many external borderlands. Each of the four disciplinary components mapped above has come in for strong critical scrutiny, followed by (‘baby/bathwater”) agendas of res- cue, redefinition, and recombination. The four components persist, no longer linked by a disciplinary “common sense” but reconceived and re- connected in partial, tactical ways. I offer not a map, but some signs of current rearticulation. (1) Object. Anthropologists no longer specialize in “primitive” societies. They “study up,” in Laura Nader's famous phrase (1969), and the range of sociocultural contexts that can be treated “anthropologically” is poten- tially vast: from country clubs to computer hackers, from tourist perfor- mances to physics labs, from soundscapes to video productions, from traveling African musicians to Melanesian kastom movements. Of course, this expanded, even promiscuous, range compounds long-standing prob- lems of disciplinary definition. In particular, the constitutive opposi- tions with sociology and history, based on a now-apparent colonial spe- cialization, have broken down. Anthropologists no longer prescriptively study “out” and “down.” Moreover, anthropologists’ former objects— small-scale, tribal, subaltern, and out-of-the-way peoples—are recognized as having been actively engaged with precolonial and colonial histories and as possessing distinct forms of historical consciousness. Anthropol- JAMES CLIFFORDogy’s former objects are now repositioned as coeval participants in systems of differently “globalizing” economic, sociocultural power. (Among the many who have contributed to these developments: Rosaldo 1980; Dening 1980; Fabian 1983; Sahlins 1985.) This displacement of anthropology’s long-naturalized site of special- ized overview—looking “out” and “back” from the end or cutting edge ofa progressive history—has involved ongoing renegotiations of boundaries, roles, and methods. The title of a recent collection of contemporary so- ciocultural work, Exotic No More (MacClancy 2002), proclaims, a bit de- fensively, the new orientation. At the same time, for many in the dis- cipline, the former emphasis on the exotic and the marginal remains a valued, defining feature, albeit in need of postcolonial reconception. What other academic discipline attends, as anthropology has, to the expe- riences of marginal and voiceless peoples? 1 argue elsewhere (Clifford 2000) that sociocultural anthropology has characteristically made, and should continue to make, two crucial interventions, asking: “What else is there?” and “Not so fast!” Both questions are tied to the discipline’s brief for diversity, its sense that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in general theories of evolution or globalization. A legacy of anthropological exoticism, at its best a form of lucid, intense attention to otherness, is still part of the anthropological habitus. It is sometimes claimed that anthropology is distinctively “comparative” in its worldview. Of course, more or less explicit comparison is a characteristic of all critical thought, and anthropology’s more successful comparative topoi (the gift, kinship, the person) are not inherently different from phenomena under- stood comparatively by other human sciences. What remains distinctive is the scope of comparison, the range of sociocultural phenomena in large and small sites, that anthropology finds it necessary to consider. (In this egalitarian agenda it most closely resembles, perhaps, linguistics, for which there are no important and unimportant languages.) (2) Method. The disciplinary template for proper fieldwork is contested and complicated from several directions: new forms of reflexivity, the projects of “indigenous” scholars, and the proliferation of “ethnographic” approaches across the human sciences and humanities. There is no need to belabor the fact that “the field” is not what it used to be (e.g., Rabinow 1977; Tsing 1993; Gupta and Ferguson 1997). Some anthropologists strug- gle to contain these changes, seeing only epistemological jitters and a REARTICULATING ANTHROPOLOGY 4adangerous politicization. Others (myself included) find the glass hall full, hoping for a thorough decolonization of research and a rebirth of herme- neutically sophisticated ethnography. Whatever the uneven results of the changes under way, an anthropolog. ical style, distinctive in the current interdisciplinary jumble of “ethno- graphic” methods, is still relatively clear. A good deal of effort has recently been exerted to sharpen this disciplinary borderline, especially vis-a-vis literary” or “cultural studies” approaches. Depth and interactivity of research, guaranteed by revised notions of dwelling, alliance, language competence, translation, and hermeneutic process, remain characteristic of “anthropological” ethnography. Traditions of “fieldwork,” delinked from histories of exotic travel, colonial governmentality, and class pater- nalism, are newly entangled in the “complex connectivity” (Tomlinson 1999) and power-charged countercurrents too quickly rounded up by the term “globalization.” In these worldly contexts, anthropological ethnography offers its indis- pensable complicating message: ‘Not so fast!” The bottom-up, peripheral histories it renders; the attention to local-level pragmatics, to surprising outcomes (for example, the inventive cultural survival of many suppos- edly doomed tribal peoples)—all contribute to Marshall Sahlins’s (2000b) “anthropological enlightenment.” The challenge is to make these “eth- nographi Denies It”) objections in the interdisciplinary, comparative study of global processes. Thus the particularist localism of much traditional fieldwork is being reconceived—for example, in Anna Tsing’s (1993) account of a com- plexly connected “out-of-the-way place” or George Marcus's (1995) con- ception of “multisited” ethnography. (3) Paradigm. “Culture,” generally understood as either discrete, his- torical systems of meaning and practice or as an evolutionary capacity to. Jearn and transmit behavior, has been appropriated and rearticulated by a range of other disciplines in the humanities and the evolutionary/cogni- tive sciences. Culture can no longer be defined in a rigorously “anthropo- logical” way (if it ever could; Kroeber and Kluckhohn 1952). Yet what is still often referred to as the “anthropological culture idea” (relativist, small “e’) is ubiquitous across the humanities and human sciences, de- spite recurring attempts to cut it down to size. In this situation, anthropol- ogy appears to be a victim of its own success. “Culture” has become what Roland Barthes once called a “mana word.” People routinely evoke the interventions something more than nominalist (‘“Two Crows JAMES CLIFFORDeee “culture” of corporate executives, the military, teens, medieval villages, Balinese, chimpanzees, the Internet. Anthropology’s once distinctive par- adigm now underwrites a vast range of work in many fields. While the concept of culture cannot provide a central paradigm for contemporary anthropology, it remains a critical stake, what W. B. Gallie (1964) might call an “essentially contested” disciplinary category. A re cent Wenner Gren sympositim brought together a representative range of anthropological scholars to assess the status of the concept, and—in the words of its organizers—to move “beyond culture worry.” In their intro- duction to the substantial and diverse collection of essays that emerged from the symposium, Richard Fox and Barbara King (2002) argue that disciplinary vitality depends on separating anthropology from its too close association with the culture paradigm: “We need not be locked into one view of anthropology in the same way we once asserted that ‘the natives’ were locked into their cultures” (19). Fox and King see anthropol- ogy as polymorphous and opportunistic, working with an open-ended range of methodologies, theories, and objects of study. Indeed, the quite various, sometimes contradictory, views of “anthropology beyond cul- ture” represented by the twelve collected essays confirm this sense of multiplicity. The book's editors are not overly concerned about the discipline’s soul or identity. Looking beyond the “culture worry” that they find in the work of Geertz. and Ortner (“among many others”) in Sahlins's aggressive de- fenses of culture, and in attempts “to invalidate anthropology” by un- named “critics” (no doubt pesky postmodernists), Fox and King affirm “an abiding commitment to anthropology as the comprehensive study of humankind (including our near primate relatives)” (2002, 19; my empha- sis). Lest one suspect this rather breathtaking ambition might be casual thetoric, they go on to specify: “The breadth of anthropology—whether that breadth be measured by its coverage of the world’s peoples, its his- torical depth, or the variety of its ethnographic, comparative, evolution- ary, and developmental analyses—is unmatched by other scholarly dis plines” (r9). Some will be unsure whether this evokes a potentially coherent “com- prehensive study of humankind” or a discipline splitting apart, spread too thin. At the very least, it suggests anthropology’s current state of what might be called loose articulation. “Culture” variously defined—attacked, defended, inflated, cut back, bypassed—remains in the mix but no longer REARTICULATING ANTHROPOLOGY 43at the center. Often it is deployed in loose adjectival or compound forms: “cultural politics,” “the culture industry,” “diaspora culture,” “youth sub- cultures.” The concept is clearly too important and pervasive to reject or replace. Yet its paradigmatic disciplinary function, as Fox and King recog- nize, has been undermined or, better, dispersed. “Culture” is all over the place. And the different ways it is understood by historical ethnographers, textual critics, or neo-Gramscian political analysts have little in common with its uses by most evolutionary theorists or cognitive scientists (4)Telos. The figure of “Man” (or its current improved version, “hu- manity”) seems more and more blatantly a rhetorical condensation of disparate elements. Foucault and feminism have chased “Man” from the masthead of most anthropological journals. (L’Homme is the last hold. out.) But if the masculinist signifier is disappearing, we are far from the “posthumanist” world imagined by a generation of radical poststructural- ists. Man/humanity remains a potent vision, something to speak for, to reach for, to grasp in as comprehensive a manner as possible. Recently 1 heard the dean of humanities at my university, Wlad Godzich, argue forcefully that the development and diverse possibilities of “the human” were the proper domain of “the humanities.” (He was probably including at least sociocultural anthropology and historical archaeology in this somewhat imperial claim.) But no doubt other discourses, based in evolu- tionary biology, philosophy, linguistics, or cognitive science, could make the same kind of statement appropriating the human. Anthropologists can still be heard talking of their discipline’s special dedication to understanding “human behavior” (as if this distinguished it from history, literature, philosophy, sociology, etc.). But, of course, when anthropology—at least in its American vein—called itself “the science of man,” it was not claiming to study everything human. It was asserting specific holism, an array of concerns including current sociocultural life, the archaeological past (historic and prehistoric), primate and early hominid evolution, and the varieties of language use. And as we have seen, the range of human societies and histories condensed in this science was limited. It was generally understood that anthropology’s “man” was limited to peoples (primitive/exotic or small-scale) whose societies and/ or cultures could be studied holistically; to ancient, premodern, non- Western histories; to human and primate evolution. The focus was over- whelmingly on early and non-Western humanity. Thus, in practice, the ultimate goal and horizon, “Man,” was foreshortened, made real, by a JAMES CLIFFORDdisciplinary ensemble composed of a limited object, method, and para- digm. As the identity of this ensemble loosens, anthropology becomes, more than ever, a changing field of discrepant and overlapping alliances Since the 1960s, anthropology’s defining elements have been thoroughly rearticulated. The contributions in this volume offer many examples of broken links and new connections. This is not to say that earlier disciplin- ary formations were misguided or did not produce valuable, concrete knowledge. Itis only to argue that the disciplining and interdisciplining of anthropological knowledge and research practices are productive and ongoing. Anthropology has always been cobbled together, constructed from disparate influences, humanistic and scientific. It is worth remem- bering that none of the discipline’s founders (trained in physics, medi- cine, biology, history, philology, sociology, religious studies, sciences colo- niales, missions) were “anthropologists.” And during the past century the moments of disciplinary consensus have never gone unchallenged. To mention only one example among many: Radcliffe-Brown's postwar pro- gram of a “natural science of society” was almost immediately punctured by Evans-Pritchard’s famous defection to history in 1951. ‘The discipline of anthropology seems currently to be in an accelerated, “hot” moment of rearticulation. It seems unlikely, however, that anthro- pology departments will shortly disappear—if only for reasons of institu- tional inertia, but also because “anthropological perspectives,” if not eas- ily defined, are widely recognized and valued. Some departments may take new, hyphenated names or add specifying adjectives. And in this they more resemble contemporary sciences like biology, which quite regularly recombine and split, than the purportedly essential disciplines of the traditional “arts and sciences” university. Indeed, in the general approach Ihave been proposing, even the best established canonical traditions are seen to have been constituted and reconstituted in practice through inter- disciplinary articulations and disarticulations, It is important, of course, to distinguish disciplines from individual departments. If the former are “imagined communities,” their communal mode of government can be quite loosely federal. Witness the capacious programs for the annual meetings of the aaa, the mua, the Linguistic Society of America, or the asta. Particular departments reflect more spe- cific arrangements: ruptures, struggles, truces, reinventions of local tradi- tion and community. Few pretend to cover the whole disciplinary land- REARTICULATING ANTHROPOLOGY 4546 scape. In the San Francisco Bay Area, Stanford and u.c. Berkeley offer an interesting contrast. The former recently opted for a segmentary solution (hiving off “cultural and social anthropology,” linked with interpretive archaeology, from “anthropological sciences"). The latter formally main- tains four fields but in practice seriously supports only two, the socio- cultural and archaeological, themselves diverse and ramifying. (In this case, linguistic anthropology becomes effectively an element of the so: ciocultural area, distant from many current developments in linguistics.) Stanford's “cultural and social” formation resembles that of other major departments—for example, Chicago, Princeton, and Duke (“cultural” sep- arate from “biological anthropology and anatomy”). Indeed, the wide- spread rapprochement of sociocultural and historical approaches sug- gests a new version of the “ethnology” that Robert Lowie, in his History of Ethnological Theory (1937), preferred to “anthropology.” In this develop- ment, sectors of American anthropology realign themselves with histor ically oriented European versions of the discipline (especially in Germany, Central Europe, and Scandinavia). Archaeology, by definition a “histor- ical” science, is divided over whether its basic approach should be (scien- tific) evolutionist or (interpretive) historicist, Recent trends in the United States and Britain point in generally opposite directions (Gosden 1999, 8), with room for a range of specific alliances, such as that forged by Ian Hodder and his colleagues at Stanford (this volume). These are only some of the currently active dis- and rearticulations of American anthropology. Moreover, the sociocultural emphasis of the de- partments mentioned above does not exclude productive relations across the sometimes fraught lines separating biology and culture, evolution and history, positivism and hermeneutics—battlegrounds in the recent “sci- ence wars.” One might note Emory University’s commitment to holism, linking especially cultural and biological agendas, or u.c. San Diego's similar scope, with a special emphasis on psychological approaches. Work in archaeology and linguistic anthropology bridges humanistic and scien: tific epistemologies in specific projects. In others, researchers align them: selves with one or the other of the “two cultures.” For example, the Univer- sity of Chicago program, makes no commitment to knowledge of “the human” or to archaeology and biological anthropology. The departmental website, quite unlike Emory’s, eschews holistic claims and simply adver- tises the current research emphases of faculty, mostly on contemporary JAMES CLIFFORDhistorical and sociocultural problems—research that connects directly with work in allied disciplines. ‘Anthropology’s range of extramural articulations is very wide. Links between social historians and historical ethnographers; between feminist anthropologists and women's studies; between cognitive anthropology and psychology; between archaeology and biology, art history, or classics, etc, are achieved through specific alliances in and across hyphenating programs. They cannot be understood as elements of an assumed disci- plinary identity or prescriptive tradition. The processes of (inter)disci- plining, making and unmaking an articulated ensemble called anthropol- ogy, are ordinary activities that cannot be contained by periodic “back to basics” reactions. The “basics” are, of course, selections in new circum- stances from among the tangled resources of tradition In the approach I have been outlining, perceptions of crisis (and re- newal) register normal disciplinary realignments in conflictual and cre- ative institutional contexts. Readers may legitimately wonder if this kind of analysis ss troubling or reassuring, enlightening or irrelevant. Itdoes not identify the ongoing core, the soul, of anthropology, nor does it offer much advice for charting the discipline's immediate course. In the longer term, anthropology may well come to be understood as a “twentieth-century” science, its ideas, objects, and methods subsequently redistributed in other academic constellations. Or it may be that segments of the traditional discipline will become, like geography, important fields of knowledge unevenly present in restructured American universities. Or, as Lederman hopes, anthropology may persist as a polythetic cluster, an opportunistic, loose coalition of approaches, that sustains itself in the shifting intellec- tual/institutional landscape by contributing a distinctive breadth of com- parative approaches, an openness to humanist/scientific crossovers, and an ethnographic commitment to “local knowledge” (Geertz. 1983) The above account offers no answers for immediate dilemmas of artic- ulation raised throughout this volume. It skirts the important question of anthropology’s public reputation, an issue sometimes condensed in the desire for a “new Margaret Mead.” Nor does it address the important issue of how disciplinary fronts can be tactically sustained in contexts of budget shortfalls and administrative downsizing. Indeed, I have focused rather narrowly on academic matters, without considering broader changes that exert structural pressures on current rearticulations. Two immediately REARTICULATING ANTHROPOLOGY 47come to mind: (1) the ongoing, and unfinished, decolonization of a Euro. American-centered science of man and culture, something I have dis: cussed elsewhere (e.g., Clifford 1997b) but here mention only in passing; and (2) the neoliberal corporate university, with its increased emphasis on marketable outcomes, flexible research teams, and audit-driven inter- disciplinarity. In the sometimes brutal readjustments of the contemporary university, it may be important to resist managerial trends by defending traditional disciplinary spaces. But the history of disciplining and artic ulation I have been sketching makes it clear that such defensive postures can be sustained only at risk of irrelevance and sclerosis. 48 JAMES CLIFFORDReferences Barth, Fredrik, ed. 1969. Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Cultural Difference. Boston: Little Brown. 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